


Best Served Cold

by Ihsan997



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, Beating, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Electricity, Electrocution, Engineering, Engineers, Fallout Video Game References, Gen, Illegal Activities, Insults, Justice, Minor Character Death, Non-Sexual Slavery, Original Character Death(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Post-Apocalypse, Revenge, Scheming, Shock, Slave Trade, Slavery, Smuggling, Swimming Pools, Technology, Trapped, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihsan997/pseuds/Ihsan997
Summary: Long before the wanderer known as Nahum made his mark in the wastelands of the capital and the commonwealth, there was a simpler man in a simpler time. Having run afoul of slavers on the east coast, Frederick Doyle - as he was known at the time - stayed quiet for years. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch, though, because those are the ones who never forget.Set in the year 2279, this story serves as background for my original RP character Nahum. His story predates the events of Fallout 3 and 4, and few people involved in those events know exactly who the man is and where he came from. Those of you who read this tale of vengeance are among those few.
Kudos: 1





	Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Fallout is the property of Bethesda, not me.

Perfect. Every minute detail was perfect.

Even though the radroach entrails festering in the corner caused him to wince every time his gaze passed over them, the details were perfect. Even though the stagnant water flooding the far end of his living quarters smelled rank, the angle of every corner was perfect. Even though the corroded drain which formed both his toilet and his shower runoff had been clogged for three days, the calculation of every risk was perfect. Even though his rations of expired food had been reduced that morning, even though the mangy alley cat he’d been raising had been used for target practice by the guard, even though his mangled ceiling fan had been taken away, every aspect of his plans were perfect. Implementation could be flawed; design had to be perfect.

Frederick Doyle dragged the lead pencil over the drafting paper as he sat hunched over his rickety desk using only malodorous candles to illuminate his schematics. He’d finally started to commit his ideas to concrete designs days ago - around the same time that the hole he used for both showering and answering the call of nature had clogged. In between his normal maintenance duties and his begging the guard for a plunger, he’d spent every waking hour drafting his diagrams down to the very last millimeter. To anyone else, he’d have appeared to be no more than what he looked like on the outside: an overqualified slave scribbling in a dimly lit, irradiated electrical room which stank like a ghoul’s coffin. To him, however, he was a modern Amadeus composing his magnum opus.

Only when he’d finished copying the schematics twice over, and hiding them beneath the corpse of his long deceased colleague enshrined in a moldy storage closet, did he ring the bell near the prison cell door welded to the only exit from the electrical room. Harsh footsteps pounded down the stairs after the typical extended delay, forcing Frederick to wait by the door for an inordinate amount of time until his jailer, keeper, and minder arrived. An obtuse ogre of a man donned in a raider’s leathers approached the cell door, thumping the bars with a corked baseball bat in the expected show of force. Frederick bowed his head in deference, avoiding direct eye contact with the impatient enforcer who was only happy when a slave didn’t need to be actively guarded. Which meant that the pudgy raider wasn’t happy.

“Don’t waste my time, fuckstick,” the leather-clad guard practically hissed at Frederick.

“A pity the fool who would waste your time, Hap,” Frederick replied with a forced softness which taxed his throat. “I have something which will make you and your employer very happy indeed.”

The guard named Hap sneered. “Cut the shit and hand over what you got before I trash it like I did that stupid clicker thing,” he said acrimoniously, referring to the makeshift Geiger counter Frederick had spent hours putting together from scrap. Frederick took care to hand over the schematics such that Hap could grip the center, reducing the chances of the oaf tearing them by accident. “What is this crap?”

“A jacuzzi,” Frederick said, struggling not to react when Hap gripped the schematics more tightly. “I mean, a swimming pool,” he restated for the sake of the dim-witted guard. “It has lights and bubbles made by water jets, and it’s warm. These are the plans I need to build it for you all.”

Without initially listening, Hap began to launch into the usual tirade about being bothered by one of the slaves. “You stupid, dumbshit…” Hap’s lips continued moving for a second as his body struggled to cope with the slow pace of his brain. The oaf blinked a few times while trying to comprehend the notion of a slave telling him something meaningful. “The fuck you talking about?”

“An indoor swimming pool,” Frederick said with a light sweep of his hand to demonstrate the breadth of the proposed pool. “Any time you want, when you need time off, you could soothe aching muscles and bones in water as warm as the heater I built for you. And, hey,” he followed up with a suggestive grin, “think of the parties you guys could throw here. Just call a provider who’s discreet, who won’t ask questions…”

“Wipe that smile off your face, dumbass.”

“Yes sir,” Frederick replied, choking on his own pride as he’d grown so used to over the past five miserable years.

Hap looked over the schematics for a few moments, trying to make sense of them much in the way that a chimp might try to make sense of a jigsaw puzzle. “You’re gonna explain this to the boss, and you’re gonna take responsibility of it wastes his time.”

Frederick bowed his head respectfully as the cell door opened, stepping out in front per protocol in case Hap decided he needed to crack open the skull of any disobedient slaves. Without a word, the two of them ascended the stairs and walked down the dilapidated ground floor hallway, passing by the similarly squalid quarters of the other captive laborers in the fortified ghetto house. Soundproofed walls muffled the sounds of the various radios, power generators, and other gadgets which Frederick had carefully set up per his unpaid, non-consensual duties, leaving the pair in silence as they stepped over wood chips and other debris.

Once they rounded the crumbling corner of the urban stronghold, Hap gave Frederick a rough warning shove. Toward the business end of the domicile, the goods which formed the operation’s lifeblood laid in rusty metal containers, stacked and waiting for their shipment periods. Frederick bowed his head again, making an obedient display as he avoided looking at the merchandise in the same way he avoided looking his ape-like minder in the eye. The rubble-covered floor filled his vision for the final few steps, holding still when Hap yanked on his slave collar roughly enough to put a kink in Frederick’s wind pipe. He held his breath almost to the point of passing out to avoid coughing, knowing that his own usefulness to the operation wouldn’t save him if he interrupted the ringleader’s meeting. He couldn’t see the end of the business deal, but he could hear the warped voice of his owner, distorted with a vocoder which Frederick himself had built during his first week of servitude.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” said the warped, distorted voice of the man who’d bought Frederick from slavers all those years ago. “You can pick up your stuff in the alley on the right side of the building.”

Reverberating from the other side of the tinted bulletproof glass, the latest customer’s voice was almost muffled by the sound of a tin can full of bottle caps sliding in through the slot on the cinderblock wall built in the house’s former anteroom. “Likewise, Mr. Rocket,” the customer said before their silhouette disappeared from view followed by the sound of the front door closing.

With the deal completed, the ringleader shut down the audio system, slid back in his chair, and flashed Hap a smarmy grin. “Another one in the bag,” the self-important salesman of ill repute said, sharing an irritating laugh with the guard. “So what do we have?”

“Shitbag here says he can build us a swimming pool,” Hap said, placing his palm on the back of Frederick’s head and shoving hard but with a dismissive nonchalance as if he were showing off more of the illegal merchandise they were dealing. “He drew more of his lame pics.”

When the ringleader turned to face Frederick, the smarmy grin transformed into the sort of loathsome visage like when a pet dog shat on its owner’s rug. Brushing a hand as if to dust of his already spotless pre-war business suit, the head of the operation couldn’t help himself from presumptuous postering even when addressing a person he owned like cattle. “Oh great, our little dreamer is prattling on about more of his…dreams,” the man said despite being the same size as Frederick. He accepted the schematics from Hap and looked them over. “What, you expect me to read these chicken scratches?”

Upon hearing the insult to his work, Frederick grit his molar teeth yet steeled his jaw to avoid outwardly reacting. After five years of nonstop verbal abuse from his captors, very little could offend him; however, insulting his work was one of those few things. Hesitating for a moment to collect his thoughts, he answered as tersely as possible. “They’re proof that I can do this for you, Rick,” he replied with a forced calm that neither of his two interlocutors would suspect. “I wouldn’t waste your time or play games. I know that you weren’t happy with my hobbies-“

“I’m not happy when you waste time on toys,” Rick said, disrespecting Frederick’s work again - and in this case, the gadgets which Hap had broken for fun.

Disassociating to the point that he denied hearing the comment, Frederick continued working his captors. “Yes, of course. So this time, I’ve devised a project that directly benefits you. You can soak aching muscles and bones at the end of a long day of work, maybe, you know, invite over providers whom you know to be discreet…” Frederick tried to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, tasting success when Rick’s desire to denigrate him was overridden by the desire to be pampered.

“A swimming pool, eh?” Rick said while pretending he actually understood the plans. Sticking his nose up in the air and frowning as if he’d noticed flaws which couldn’t possibly exist, the ringleader grunted his disrespect. “This seems like it’s beyond your capacities, but I’ll give you a chance,” he said, speaking as if building a jacuzzi for free was somehow a privilege Frederick was begging for. “Screw this up and I’ll start searching for another engineer.”

Amused by Rick’s gullibility, Frederick smiled, playing it off as humility. “Thank you so much, sir! I won’t let you down!” he beamed like a child while purposely fumbling with the schematics when Rick tossed them to the floor, playing the role of the bumbling nerd as best he could.

Rick waved for Frederick to be taken away, and Hap yanked on the slave collar again. “You’re welcome in advance. Now get out of here, the guys coming for those stolen computer parts are on their way. You keep that power running first and foremost.”

Frederick said nothing as Hap dragged him away, allowing himself to be pushed out front as they walked back to the squalid electrical room which was his prison. With his face concealed, he smiled sincerely for the first time in many weeks, clutching his schematics as if he’d struck gold. Nobody was able to see the resentful arch in his eyebrows once he returned to his cell.


End file.
